It's summer, and it's not too late to fit into that bikini, guys, so let's go running in the 112-degree heat and work off some of that winter weight, right?! Or, let's accept our über orca-ness and get a cheeseburger with an extra helping of A/C. I pick orca. Meet me at JG's.

Need directions? You can Google it, or Google "Animal Cancer Center Dallas"—it's right next door. Until I saw the Animal Cancer Center of Dallas, I didn't believe that there was enough of an animal cancer epidemic to warrant building an entire center for it, but apparently that's just how rich we are in Dallas. You think Royse City has an Animal Cancer Center? If they do, I'm thinking it's the name of Daddy's shotgun. Look—I'm not proposing that we be cruel to animals here. It just bugs me that somewhere in D-town, some stay-at-home hire-a-wife is spending thousands upon thousands of dollars wasting the Animal Cancer Center's time trying to save a butt-cancer-ridden ferret when the Animal Cancer Center could be spending that time saving a puppy with tail cancer. You're right. That was insensitive. I'm a bitch.

So, onto a completely different subject that has absolutely nothing to do with animals. It's time for some hot 'n' heavy burger-patty-on-bun action. I'm talking about JG's, y'all. Get in line behind me at the golden register. (It says, "Please Don't Touch," and—I think I can speak for a lot of us when I say this—out of nowhere, that sign made me really, really want to touch that register. Dudes, if you're not getting any play, I suggest you write "Please Don't Touch" on it. I can't promise that the touches you get will be exclusively from hot people or exclusively from people, but I can guarantee that someone will have to touch it simply because you politely asked them not to.) I ordered the cheeseburger special, which is a cheeseburger with fries and a drink (off the record, I also got some onion rings because I'm awesome and they were de-fuckin'-liciously crispy). The burger was juicy and medium-welltastic, plus the homemade fries were freshly fried, absolutely made of real potatoes and salted to perfection (get the cheese fries if you're a fan—they looked awesome). My review of JG's in two bad words: Partyballs shityeah!